


Hiraeth

by RahmanS



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RahmanS/pseuds/RahmanS
Summary: A little fan-fiction of The Phantom of the Opera – it is focused on a brief period of time including a few scenes and is set outdoors. The time in which the story is imagined in relation to Christine’s life is rather arbitrary, and is left open for the reader to choose according to their own interpretation. The theme of this flash fiction is derived from an actual dream.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Kudos: 2





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer
> 
> This is an original piece of work, based on a dream. Any similarity to any other fan-fiction in context, language or presentation is entirely coincidental and was not meant to violate laws of plagiarisation.

Christine could not be bothered that the path she was rushing towards did not lead home. She just had to walk away, away from her overwhelming emotions, away from him. She could not bear the glare of her own desire reflecting off his strange golden eyes, their unfathomably abysmal depth drawing every bit of her existence towards him. Her pace quickened in the woods, as she conjured up how moments ago his proximity burned torrents of sensations coursing through her entire body, awakening that which she did not know existed. She had to use all the might she could muster to break away from the enthralling force of attraction produced from the fusion of their unrestrained passionate longings. Perhaps she was prolonging her way home to march through the woods because she intended to use the time to detangle herself from his magnetic field. Perhaps she had to find an answer for feeling the way she did, or even find herself after a synopsis of an unrecognisable version of herself threatened to take over her. An angry growl of thunder interjected Christine’s train of thought and stopped her shortly on her track. She just realised that it was darker than anticipated and the weather had taken an unpredictable turn – even the weather is a reminiscence of his gloomy, aloof and mercurial persona. Now completely perplexed as to where she was heading, she continued her steps more cautiously this time. She had no knowledge of where she got herself stranded, let alone that of the way back home. Another strike of lightning ominously glowed in the dark, followed by a huge roar. Utterly confused and frightened, Christine gasped as she crashed against a tree. Regaining some of her composure, she leaned her back against the trunk – she was all over the place, a mess of sensations, intimidated on the outside by the menacing surroundings, while the fear of giving way to her already porous resolute and fear of acknowledging the truth seized from deep inside. She knew she was in pieces, with some vital piece missing. Not knowing where to go to find that missing piece, she darted forward in a sprint, barely registering that her abrupt movement ripped the ribbon holding the lacy fabric at her back, which was caught in the uneven texture of the trunk. She was going backwards this time, unsure where to stop, but she just had to go back. The wind was much stronger and colder as she was speeding through a clearing, the freezing edges cutting against her skin. Just as another thunder was about to roar with heaven-splitting violence, Christine lost herself in an all-encasing embrace - the roar of thunder was but a mere reflection of the jolts created from their bodies colliding. She felt her world rotating off its axis, but never did it feel more perfect. She allowed herself to go completely limp against Erik; no more rushing, as she realised that she reached her final destination. She panted in cadence with the heaving motion of his chest, the sturdy muscles through thin layer of shirt pressing against her cheek with each inhalation. His long fingers felt like warm blessings on the nearly bare flesh of her back. She had no idea when her arms encircled around his waist, probably realised that she already did it when she consciously wanted to do the same. All the distress that previously bothered her dissipated in thin air once she was in the arms of her Guardian Angel – and everything else seemed to fall in place simultaneously. No matter how much she tried to delude herself, the valour of her affection for him eventually triumphed over any barriers, and the part of her that she tried to keep captive for so long was the very essence of her soul, which acknowledged the truth in broad daylight… that Erik was an indispensable part of her being, the quintessential saviour in every distress. The strength of his arms around her restored her from inside out, made her feel whole – made the realisation dawn over her that the missing piece was nothing else other than Erik himself. Even under an unsettling weather, nothing felt more peaceful for Christine than being held that close by her Angel, while she indulged in a strange musky redolence that was so uniquely his and fondly tuned to the rhythm of his heart, which happened to be directly beneath where he held her head. 

She had the urge to see his face, hence she slightly withdrew to look up – he was looking down at her with intent eyes that shone with a medley of pure concern, wistfulness and a few other emotions that were hard for Christine to decipher. She was looking at him for the first time outdoors, that too at nightfall. Despite his imposing tall figure in three-dimension, he seemed more like a mysteriously abstract artwork of a capricious painter, who created the masterpiece from blends of a myriad temperaments, making the creation hard to interpret. She always thought that he was a perfect emblem of the dark side of the moon – unexplored and feared, yet so charismatic. There was a mesmerizing element in his enigmatic appearance – his dark cape was flapping behind in the wind - the pale skin on the other half of his face that was not covered by the porcelain mask had a strange damask hue, which could have been a result of flushed skin seen at a particularly dark twilight – occasional distant bolts of lightning glinted sublimely in his magnificent golden eyes, igniting a subtle iridescent gleam that was too entrancing to look away from.   
With some effort, Christine found her voice and asked, “how did you find me?”, which, she realised, was inane to ask him, given his uncanny ability to find her even in her dreams. He looked doubtful for a moment, as if in slight disbelief; then a ghost of a smile passed over his slender lips before he answered “I will always find you”, his unearthly angelic voice reverberating deep inside every fragment of Christine’s sensuousness. “I would barely let you be alone under a merciless turn of elements”. Under his façade of well-articulated and somewhat supercilious tone, the warmth of his genuine concern was pretty palpable to Christine. Her hands, which were anchored at his waist, slowly moved upwards, delectably gliding over sturdy trapezius; Erik’s pupils dilated as a response, his muscles tensed, followed by a series of shallow breaths. Christine sensed that he was being apprehensive, knowing that these gestures must be quite unprecedented and unexpected for him – a surge of compassion brimmed her to acknowledge that his self-deprecation would not let him feel worthy of any act of adoration. To familiarise him with her adulating touch, she ran her hands soothingly over his back a few more times, in various directions, to help him cease to hold back; once it was apparent that he relaxed to some extent, Christine dropped her hands and reached up for his shoulders, tantalizingly gliding over his chest on her way up, before resting her hands on his shoulders, her arms almost on full stretch. A myriad of emotions seemed to flicker across the unmasked part of his face, with astonishment standing out the most. Her hands closed around the nape of his neck under the cape – the heat from his gaze emanating from glowing amber rings were intensifying each moment. As her hands curled around the back of his neck, Christine observed with fascination how his slender lips gently parted ever so slightly, imparting an ethereally hypnotic touch to his masked face. She recalled her ballet skills to tip toe all the way up – sensing her intentions, Erik gripped her small waist and gathered her up in his arms, diminishing the gap between their faces. As their lips meet, yet another thunder bellowed, which somehow encouraged them to dig deeper into each others mouth. As the volcano they both forced to remain dormant for so long erupted with wildfires of passion and desire, they devoured one another’s mouth with carnal hunger, with ardent desperation, as if their lives depended on it, as if there were no tomorrow. Although Christine lacked experience, she somehow intrinsically got the feeling that Erik tasted as unique as every other aspect of him; if his taste and smell could be represented in a colour, it would be outside the spectrum, which adds to his mystique, rendering him all the more intriguing to the senses. When both desperately needed air, they pulled back with a reluctance that was manifested in a faint groan that escaped from Erik’s throat. Christine was still clinging to him with her arms around his shoulders, as she threw her head heavenwards to fill her lungs with air. Gently her feet was back on the ground, and she let her arms fell down from his shoulders; she was still supported by his arms around her, when she dared a demure glance at his face – he was still breathing heavily and the distant look in in his eyes made it difficult for Christine to realise if he were on the same plane as her, beyond flesh. There was a visible increase in blood flow inside his lips, which was an undeniable testimony of the pleasurable assault they landed on each other’s lips; somewhere at the back of the mind, Christine wondered how her own lips looked after their kiss and if his mask left any imprints on the left side of her face. Impulsively she placed a hand lovingly on his left cheek – he dropped all his defences as he gave in to her touch, the luminous amber rings disappeared behind eyelids, and something like an invocation with her name on it came out of softly parted lips, which was barely audible to her amidst the growls and bustles. Locating her vocal chord which felt very dry, she ventured to ask “how could you say the weather would become unfavourable? There were no clue when…umm…when you last saw me.” He flattered his eyes open in the few drizzles that trickled down his face, both on skin and porcelain, and looked into hers as intensely as to look more than what was superficially visible of her. “I do not have to know. I can take recourse to what I feel.” She fervently wanted to sink back in the warmth of his body, hence her arms impetuously niched around his waist once again, managing to press her face against the bare skin of his chest where the placket began to part. Just as his arms adjusted to tighten the seal, the skies decided to pour down heavily, drenching them to the skin in no time. Christine was not in the least concerned about getting soaked in the cold showers – and how could she be, when all she felt was heaven cascading down on her, right in the arms of her Angel? If anything, she was entertaining thoughts that she was enjoying a strange cold shower with Erik… a shower as strange as the man himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read my first attempt at fan-fiction of my favourite story in every version - book, movie and theatre. The storyline is highly inspired from a dream I had, which I desired to immortalise in the form of a flash fiction. It was meant to be much briefer than it turned out to be, I initially even wanted to put it as a post in a social media Phantom of the Opera group, with an appropriate image! As I had to bejewel and polish it to give it more context, it eventually elaborated into this flash fiction. I was in the process of writing a short story with my very own original characters, which I had to suspend for a while to get this one sorted, before the memories of the dream fade away! You might be thinking as to why I chose a Welsh word for the title…well to be honest, I wanted to use a single word for the title as I believe (it’s a personal opinion) that single words can be more thought provoking to the reader; ‘Hiraeth’ holistically encapsulates the essence of the story, but in English language there is no single word that could serve the purpose. Once again, I express my sincere gratitude to you for reading my work.


End file.
